


Tim and Jon Could Have Been Such Soft Friends

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A little fic from Tumblr! Set season 1/early 2, Jon thinks he's come down with the cold the archive assistants shared, but it's really the flu. Tim gives him trouble about being knocked down so hard by a little cold--until he realizes and feels bad about it.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 210





	Tim and Jon Could Have Been Such Soft Friends

Tim winces as he listens to Jon cough into his elbow for not the first time that day. He’s been isolating himself in his office as much as he can to keep away from the others (not that they haven’t already had it--surprisingly, for all the abuse his immune system takes with his irregular sleep schedule and tendencies to skip meals, Jon was the last person, save for Elias who Tim thinks might not even be human, to catch Sasha’s cold), but now, he’s trying to find some specific file that he swears he just put away the other day, so he’s in the archives’ storage and miserable. It’s taking him forever to find it, since every time he breaks his focus from the shelves to cough or sneeze, he struggles to find where he’d left off and has to start the search through the whole row over again. He’s ill, tired, and, because he’s Jon, irritable. 

Tim is having what fun with it that he can. 

“Can I help you find something?” he offers, startling Jon enough to make him jump and laughing when he nearly falls off the stepladder. Tim is ready to catch him, but Jon finds his balance on his own. 

“God, Tim, is that really necessary?” he snaps. Tim shrugs fiendishly. 

“You might have heard me coming if your ears weren’t so stopped up from your cold,” he says by way of an excuse, and Jon rolls his eyes, then winces and groans, pressing a hand to his eye. “Really, though, what are you looking for? You’ve been down here for an hour.”

Jon scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Over, actually,” Tim argues.

“Why are you counting?” 

Tim offers the sort of half smile he knows Jon hates because it makes him blush. “I always know where you’re at. Really, I ought to be asking YOU why you aren’t paying me extra for doubling as your secretary when I’m doing all the work of one.” 

Jon actually laughs once, but he’d deny that it’s because he’d found the joke funny, and it ends in another harsh string of coughs. 

“So, what is it you’re looking for that’s so important it’s worth contaminating the archives?” 

He knows better than to roll his eyes this time, but the expression he shoots Tim has the same effect. “I told you, a file—”

“Right, that’s on me, should have been more specific. Probably a bit slow from all the cold medicine you’re taking. Which file, Boss, are you looking for, and do you want help finding it?” 

Jon blinks for a moment, processing everything Tim just said, before, surprisingly, nodding, stepping down from the stool and sitting on top of it. 

“I… that would be rather helpful,” he says, “thank you.” 

Tim frowns. “Alright?” 

Jon nods, waves him off with a dismissive hand. “Bit dizzy. Been happening if I’m up too long. The statement… here’s the number.” He reaches into his pocket and hands Tim a scrap of paper upon which he’s messily scribbled a statement identification code, which is, in itself, interesting, because Jon’s laser-focus normally prevents him from needing to write down anything work related in order to remember it--it’s the basic survival tasks that aren’t directly related to working which are a struggle for him. 

Still, Tim can’t feel too bad for him. He had this same head cold last week and it hadn’t been so bad.

“If you’d actually get some rest, you’d probably be feeling better by now,” he says. Predictably, Jon ignores him. 

“Hm. A nurse’s salary as well as a secretary, then? You’ll put the Institute out of business.” 

Tim chokes on a laugh. “Was that a joke?” he demands incredulously. “I don’t think I’ve heard you make one of those before.” 

“It’s a symptom.” 

Tim laughs, this time outright. “Make one more and I’m calling an ambulance.”

Jon smiles tiredly, but doesn’t say anything else, letting his head fall back against the shelf behind him. Luckily, though a bit concerning, the statement that Jon had been searching for is not, in fact, anywhere near high enough that Tim needs a stepladder because Jon had been way off in where he’d thought it would be. That means that Jon is still sitting on it when rounds the corner once more, and for all his teasing, he feels a little pity. 

“You’re a bit of a mess, you know,” he teases, keeping the folder just out of Jon’s reach until he’s said his piece. “I know it’s just a cold, but make sure you’re taking it easy, yeah?” 

Jon looks annoyed, but he nods. “Thank you for the statement,” Jon says, pointedly NOT thanking him for the unsolicited advice. 

Tim expects not to see Jon again until the next day (that’s how it’s been going, lately), but when he goes to the break room for an ill-advised afternoon cup of coffee, he’s so shocked to see Jon sitting at the table, head in his arms and fast asleep, that he laughs out loud before he can contain the impulse. 

The electric kettle is whistling and Jon’s mug (a plain black one with a photo of someone's cat on it, apparently a gift from an ex-girlfriend with whom he’s still close) is sitting next to it with a ginger tea bag inside, so it’s not difficult for Tim to piece together the scene: Jon had sat down for just a moment while the kettle warmed, and he’d fallen asleep. 

He’s got no idea how long Jon has been sitting here, but due to the lack of Martin’s jacket draped over his shoulders or tea having been made and sat in front of him, which is what Sasha would have done, Tim knows he’s the first to find him. He turns the kettle off first before crossing to Jon and shaking his shoulder lightly, not bothering to hide the amusement on his face. Jon jolts up, startled, and immediately winces, pinching the bridge of his nose in pain. 

“Good morning, Boss,” Tim teases. “Have a nice nap?” 

Jon grumbles something unintelligible that Tim thinks he’s probably better off not hearing, then asks, more clearly, “what time is it?” 

“Half past four,” Tim replies, his bemused expression faltering when Jon looks genuinely upset. 

“You’re joking,” he says, and Tim shakes his head. 

“Afraid not.” 

“Damn it,” Jon curses.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve hardly gotten anything done at all,” he laments. He looks a bit more miserable than Tim thinks he should, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Wow, Jon, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type who’d be knocked down so hard by a little cold,” he teases. Jon, predictably, glares. 

“I'm doing my best,” he asserts. “But every time I sit down, it seems, I can't stay awake. And I can't just not sit, because I get dizzy.” 

Tim outright frowns, now. “That doesn't sound like a cold, Jon,” he points out. It's taken him far too long to realize, and now that he has, it's so painfully obvious that he feels guilty for having given Jon such a hard time. He'd thought that finding Jon bundled up asleep all over the Institute had been almost endearing--he might even say “cute” if he had a death wish--but it all makes sense, from his complaints of backaches to the severe fatigue. “You wouldn't have happened to spend any length of time with the Librarians, have you?” 

Jon nods, clearly not following. “Yes, I sat in on a meeting a few days ago. Why?” 

“Hannah, Tom, and Diana are all out with the flu this week. Sasha told me it's spread through the library like wildfire.” He takes a seat next to Jon and cautiously reaches out his hand to Jon’s forehead, shocked when he doesn't protest (though he does NOT look pleased) but not nearly so surprised at the heat he finds there, aggressive and dry. “Aw, Boss, you're burning up.”

Jon shivers and nods. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“Did you really have no idea?”

He shrugs. “I… thought this was what you all had dealt with. Didn't want to be dramatic about it.”

“Right, because nothing says ‘I don't want to be dramatic’ like running yourself into the ground with a fever.”

“Tim—”

“Oh, relax,” he curtails gently. “I wouldn't have given you so much trouble, had I known. Really, you were quite tough, lasting this long, but I'm driving you home. Don't even try to argue with me.”

To his credit, Jon does not argue the point of leaving half an hour early, but he's clearly nonplussed about the idea of Tim driving. “You don't have to do that.” 

“It's the least I can do after all the teasing. My car has heat and seats that recline, so good luck convincing me you'd rather ride the tube and walk the two blocks home from the station.” 

Jon can't, and he doesn't try. 

“Thank you,” he says instead, and Tim smiles, draping his coat over Jon's shoulders before leaving. It's big on him, but at least it stops the shivering. 

“Don't mention it.”

Jon falls asleep in the car on the way home. 


End file.
